


In Bloom

by heroami



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Gen, I know nothing about plants, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith/Lance (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-Finale, Texas Keith, just a bit, or gardening, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroami/pseuds/heroami
Summary: “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”Keith hums quietly, eyes never leaving the dusty horizon, fingers idly tearing the paper label off his beer. “Like what?”Lance shrugs. “I dunno. Your favorite childhood memory or something.”Keith hums again, shifting further back into the wicker chair pressed into the corner of Lance’s front porch. It was well worn, both from years of use and exposure to the elements, but the former Black Paladin doesn’t seem to mind too much, since he claims it each time he comes to visit the farm. Lance sits across from him in its twin, nursing his own drink.They fall into a comfortable silence as Keith mulls over the question, his brow furrowing in thought. When he finally opens his mouth to answer, Lance cuts him off.“Can’t include Shiro.”Keith shoots him a withering glare. “It wasn’t going to.”
Relationships: Keith & Keith's Father (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...The last 24 hours really sucked. And it looks like things aren't going to shape up until tomorrow at the earliest. So, I needed to write something fluffy.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Keith hums quietly, eyes never leaving the dusty horizon, fingers idly tearing the paper label off his beer. “Like what?”

Lance shrugs. “I dunno. Your favorite childhood memory or something.”

Keith hums again, shifting further back into the wicker chair pressed into the corner of Lance’s front porch. It was well worn, both from years of use and exposure to the elements, but the former Black Paladin doesn’t seem to mind too much, since he claims it each time he comes to visit the farm. Lance sits across from him in its twin, nursing his own drink.

They fall into a comfortable silence as Keith mulls over the question, his brow furrowing in thought. When he finally opens his mouth to answer, Lance cuts him off.

“Can’t include Shiro.”

Keith shoots him a withering glare. “It wasn’t going to.”

“Okay, just making sure.” He flicks some crumpled label at Lance in retaliation, who lets it hit his cheek with a roll of his eyes. There’s another short pause before Keith starts again.

“My dad and I drove to the Johnson Space Center during spring break when I was in fourth grade.”

“Yeah?” Lance prompts when he doesn’t offer up any additional information.

“Yeah,” Keith echoes, shifting in his seat again. It groans quietly in protest. “Took us half the week just to get to Houston. We stopped a few times so Dad could catch up with some old college buddies who still lived in-state. We also had to stop at _every single_ historical site along the way,” he adds with a shake of his head, a fond smile playing on his lips.

Lance feels his own lips curling. “Was your dad a big history buff?”

“Try a complete nerd. And there were _so many,_ especially from World War Three.” He makes a face at the memory. “I didn’t mind most of the detours, but by the time we got to the Alamo, I was over it.”

“I don’t blame you, that’s a long trip even without a bunch of stops; but it must have made _actually_ getting to the Space Center that much better.”

“I don’t remember most of it, to be honest. Just bits and pieces.”

Lance snickers. “Really, Keith? All that traveling and you don’t remember the destination? What, you going to tell me the journey was more important instead?” The tell-tale flush on Keith’s cheek is answer enough. He laughs harder. Another chunk of beer label bounces off his temple.

“Don’t be an ass,” Keith grumbles, glaring over the top of his beer as he takes a swig.

Lance attempts to stifle his giggles, waving his hand placatingly and managing to bat off another barrage of paper in the process. “Okay, okay, sorry.” Finally calming down, Lance pushes himself up in his own seat and flicks away the litter that had begun to accumulate in his lap. “So, you enjoyed the road trip with your dad through Texas more so than _freaking NASA._ Seems legit.”

“Thank you for your approval,” is the dry response.

Lance hides his smirk with the mouth of his beer before pressing onward. “But what was your _favorite_ part then?”

This time Keith doesn’t hesitate.

“There was this one highway we drove down,” he begins, his fingers digging into the remnants of the beer label. “It was a quiet country road in the middle of nowhere. And there were these bluebonnets planted up and down the road, as far as the eye could see. Just a sea of blue.” He’s facing Lance, but his violet eyes look right through him, caught up in the memory. “The speed limit was pretty high, and the road was empty, so we rolled the windows down, turned up the music and just… cruised. It was peaceful. Like we were the only people in the world.”

He trails off after that, still gazing off into the distance.

Lance settles back into his own chair as Keith momentarily loses himself to nostalgia, content just to watch the way the waning sunlight danced across his companion’s sun kissed face – were those the beginnings of freckles he sees? -before getting caught in jet-black hair.

It’s much longer now, falling over his shoulder in a carefully plaited braid that had almost entirely come undone by now, after a day of farm work and playing with his energetic niece and nephew. The sections of hair that _were_ still in place were hanging on by a prayer. Some of the freed strands were curling coyly around his face, while others were a tangled mess inlaid with stray leaves and flecks of dried mud – a testament to where their day had taken them. The faded flannel shirt he wore was thoroughly soaked beneath the remnants of the braid, the hair having not completely dried yet from their water fight earlier.

The rest of his clothes were just as messy, covered in dirt and grass stains. The pocket on his flannel shirt had even been torn off at one point, ripped off during a tussle with Sylvio that afternoon. Or, well, the pocket on _Lance’s_ shirt, since Keith is apparently wholly incapable of remembering he needs to bring long sleeve shirts with him to the farm before insisting on helping with chores. Mama’s rules. No getting around them. So, he was usually stuck borrowing one of Lance’s. It fits him well, if a little snug along the arms and torso, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind (and frankly, nor does Lance).

Blue eyes drift back up from the dirtied shirt, lingering momentarily on the two popped top buttons displaying the expanse of sweat slicked skin beneath, before moving on. They run along the length of Keith’s neck – a bit pink after a day in the sun – then along his jaw – where a bit of mud still clung to his skin – then his lips – settled in a small, bittersweet smile – before falling back to his eyes, still lost in his memories.

Lance takes in the entire scene with a smile of his own.

Brazen, wild, free, but ultimately peaceful. Not unlike speeding down a quiet country road. 

No wonder that was one of Keith’s favorite memories. Lance completely understands. 

“You okay there?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Keith finally breaks the silence, having apparently come back to reality as Lance drifted off into his own musings. His eyebrow is quirked and his lips twist into a smirk that makes Lance’s stomach squirm pleasantly. Lance swallows heavily, the back of his neck heating up shamefully for getting caught staring. He tries to play it off though, meeting Keith’s gaze as coolly as he could manage. 

“Yup,” he replies, trying to play nonchalant. He hopes it's working. He brings his beer up to his lips anyway. Partly because he wants - _needs_ \- another sip, partly to hide his face as he takes a swig. “Just thinking.”

The eyebrow climbs higher. “About?”

“The, uh, flowers you mentioned,” Lance says hurriedly. “The bluebells. Trying to remember what they look like.” He winces internally when the response registers in his mind. _What the hell…_

Thankfully, Keith huffs out a quiet laugh. “Blue _bonnets,_ ” he corrects, reaching back to grab his phone out of his back pocket. “You’d know ‘em if you saw ‘em.” He quickly taps something out on his screen before holding it out for his friend to look. 

Lance squints at the picture on the screen, humming quietly in recognition once he gets a good look at the tall, blue flower and its white tip. He’d seen pictures of them before on social media. 

“Aren’t those the flowers everyone always stops to take pictures of their kids in?”

Keith laughs again at that, pulling his arm back and depositing the phone on the arm of his chair, face up, screen still open. “The very same. Can’t tell you how many people we passed pulled on the side of the highway doing just that. It’s like a rite of passage or something out there.” He looks down at the picture still on the screen fondly.

“Oh, really?” Bashfulness all but gone now, Lance leans forward a bit in his chair. He can feel the mischievous grin twisting on his lips. “So, did you guys-?”

“No,” is what Keith’s mouth blurts. 

His eyes say otherwise. 

They flick down to his drink, up to Lance, and down again evasively. It’s subtle, but Lance has spent enough years learning his Keith-isms to know what _that_ meant. 

His smile stretches wider. “You did, didn’t you?”

And there’s that tell-tale blush again. “Shut up.”

Lance promptly doubles over with laughter. “Oh my god!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Keith protests, positively as red as his old paladin armor at this point. 

“You didn’t have to!” Lance cackles, clutching his sides. “Oh, I can see it now: little baby Keith with itty-bitty cowboy boots and a big ol’ Stetson hat surrounded by flowers.” He could practically see it in his mind, little, baby Keith pout and all. Not unlike the one present day Keith was shooting him right now. “ _Please, please, please_ tell me you still have the pictures.”

The pout morphs into a scowl. “Over my dead body.”

Lance has to gulp down several deep breaths as his laughter subsides before he can respond. “Is that a challenge?” 

Keith rolls his eyes at that, even as his fading blush darkens a bit once more. 

(And _oh_ , doesn’t that just send a thrill down Lance’s spine.)

Either way, Lance decides to cut him some slack, leaning back fully in his chair to rest his aching sides and dutifully ignoring the partially sour look his friend was still shooting him. 

“Okay,” he says, placatingly. “So, you go to the Johnson Space Center and what you remember most is driving on a flower highway with your dad? Sounds like a good time.”

He means it genuinely. He can hear the earnestness in his own voice. 

But Keith doesn’t respond. 

Instead, his eyes are drawn back to the darkening horizon. They sit in silence as the sun sets completely, taking with it the hazy warmth of the day and leaving a slight chill, a gentle reminder that autumn was fast approaching. 

“He died three months later.”

He’s ripped off the rest of the beer label. It hangs loosely between his fingers. 

Meanwhile, whatever air Lance had just replenished after his bout of laughter is punched back out of his lungs.

He opens and closes his mouth several times, unsure of what to say. He wants to reach out, to comfort him, but is ultimately unsure if the gesture would be entirely welcomed. 

Keith never really talks about his dad’s death, so this was… big. And Lance had no idea how to handle it.

Keith allows him to stew in the silence a moment more before meeting Lance’s gaze and offering a small smile, albeit a bittersweet one, to let him know it was okay.

Lance swallows. “See, now I feel like an ass for teasing you,” he croaks.

It was Keith’s turn to laugh, though it's a hollow sound. “Good, you can do with a bit of shame,” he teases, then lets out a long, low breath. “But really it’s fine. It’s a happy memory either way. If anything, the… hard stuff that came after makes it that much better, you know?” He looks down at his phone again, brushing his finger across its face so the dimmed screen jumps back to life, showcasing the blooms once more. “I wonder if they’re still there, after everything.” 

Lance makes an understanding noise. He turns back to look back out over the yard as he considers the statement. He can just barely make out the pink of the juniberries fields in the distance. 

So much of Earth was still rebuilding after Galran occupation, even years later. Nothing on the planet has been the same as it was before. Hell, the _people_ weren’t the same as they used to be. Just approximations. 

And yet...

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” Lance begins slowly. “It’s that life finds a way.” He feels the weight of Keith’s gaze settle back on him, but he keeps his focus on the fields. “Maybe, one of these days, we can go check? All of us. A little Voltron family reunion.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

Lance is preparing to backtrack - _had he said something wrong? Was it over the line? Intruding on something deeply personal?_ \- but then -. 

“I’d like that.”

Blue eyes snap back to Keith, wide in surprise. 

Keith smiles back - small, almost shy, and altogether breathtaking. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Silence envelopes the porch again. This time it’s comfortable, albeit charged.

They hold each other’s gazes, violet and blue, and Lance’s mind begins to race as his stomach flip-flops. Should he -?

_Slam!_

Keith and Lance both jump as the screen door flies open behind them. Their forgotten beer bottles tumble to the ground - thankfully intact - as does Keith’s phone. 

As the two former paladins try to soothe their racing hearts, Nadia comes sauntering out, turning to face them with her hands perched on her hips sternly. 

“We want to have a family movie night, but Abuelita says you’re not allowed in the living room until you both wash up.” 

“Nadia!” Lance scolds, glaring at his niece and clutching at his chest. “What did we say about slamming the door?!”

Nadia purses her lips, but otherwise doesn’t waver. “I’m not supposed to but this is _important_. This is our last night before going back to school sleep schedule and I don’t want to waste it waiting on you!”

“She has a point you know,” Keith offers. “You do take stupidly, long showers.” Lance shoots him a glare as he stoops down to grab their fallen beer bottles, grumbling about uppity pre-teens all the while. 

“Don’t encourage her,” he grouses. He gets Keith digging the toe of his boot into his thigh for his trouble. 

“Oh! Keith, your phone!” Nadia disappears behind the paladin’s chair, fishing the discarded device out from under the seat. How did it end up there? “What are these?” she asks as she stands back up, tilting the still open phone screen towards them.

“Bluebonnets. A flower from Texas,” Keith explains, pushing himself out of his chair. “They’re my favorites.”

Nadia’s eyes light up. “Are they?” She looks down at the phone again as Keith raises his arms above his head to stretch. “They’re really pretty.”

Keith shoots her a smile. “I think so too.” He accepts his phone back from her before heading to the door. “I’m going to hop in the shower first,” he tells Lance. “Before you get the chance to use up all the hot water.” 

Lance waves him off absently, gathering the last bits of discarded label off the porch. “Yeah, sure, man. Go ahead.” 

He waits until both Keith and Nadia have gone back inside before standing again. He pulls out his phone, a plan already formulating in his mind. He’d need to do a bit of research though, to make sure it was even possible. 

But first, he shoots Pidge a quick text with a very important request.

/////

Some three hours later, Pidge responds in the form of several, large files.

It’s pictures of little Keith nestled in a sea of bluebonnets, with little, brown cowboy boots poking out from beneath his jeans and a large, red Stetson hat falling into his eyes. 

It was better than Lance imagined. 

In no small part due to the very large, happy grin gracing baby Keith’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing exactly?”
> 
> “Planting some seeds up and down the road.” He pulls out his phone and headphones, flicking idly through his playlist for something to listen to while he works. “Just from here to the entrance to the property.”
> 
> Sylvio's nose scrunches up in distaste. “Why?”
> 
> “Huh,” Veronica shoots Lance a look that screams ‘I told you so’. “That’s an excellent question, Sylvio. Why are we planting bluebonnets up and down the road, Lance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna preface this by saying I don't know anything about plants or gardening so... go easy on me.

“Why are we doing this again?”

Lance huffs as he checks for a final time that the plow is properly hooked up to the tractor before pushing himself to his feet and rounding on his sister, who had made herself comfortable sprawled across the seed bags he had carefully stacked next to the fence.

“What is this ‘ _we’?_ ” he asks accusingly, looking pointedly at the small stash of snacks on the ground and the open book hanging loosely in her fingertips. “You have yet to move from that spot, Veronica.”

“I’m on vacation,” the older woman sniffs. The book closes anyway, and she shifts so that she’s sitting up properly, elbows pressing into her knees, before propping her chin on a raised hand. “That, and I can’t do much if I can’t figure out what you’re doing.”

“Well,” Lance begins, reaching towards the faded red monstrosity behind him and giving it a pat. “This here is a tractor and _that_ ,” he points to the other smaller, equally-faded-red monstrosity on the end, “is a plow. Maybe you’ve heard of them? It’s gonna break the soil up so I can plant things in it.”

He gets the book thrown at him for his trouble.

“Cool it, smartass. I meant why are we using them to plant -.” Veronica shifts again, lifting her leg slightly to read the packaging beneath. “’Bluebonnets?’”

“Counter-question,” Lance stoops down to grab the discarded novel, making a face when he reads the cover. “Why are you reading Nicholas Sparks _?_ His stuff is disgustingly cheesy, and this is _me_ talking.”

“Because I like it. So, stop changing the subject and -.”

“There’s your answer, then. _Because I like them_.” He drops the book back in her lap as he bends down to steal one of her water bottles. He pauses to take a swig before pressing it to the back of his heated neck. “They’re pretty blue flowers and I want to plant them on _my_ farm. Simple as that.”

Veronica still looks dubious. “Uh-huh, and _why_ are we doing it out here by the road and not in literally _any_ of the fields on _your_ farm.”

“I’m trying something new, Ronnie. Let me live.”

She raises her hands in surrender, though her arched eyebrows tell him that she had sensed the defensive-ness laced in his tone. She looks at him carefully, eyes analyzing his face and he can practically _see_ her trying to puzzle out what’s going on. Lance feels his shoulders bunch up towards his ears and is getting ready to remind her to mind her own damn business when a shout cuts across the yard.

“Uncle Lance! Aunt Veronica!”

The tension in his shoulders drops instantly, annoyance receding as he watches Nadia and Sylvio dash towards them.

“What’s up, buttercups?” he asks as they draw nearer.

He gets two groans in reply as Nadia drops next to Veronica on the seed bags. Sylvio, on the other hand, climbs onto the fence, only to hook his knees around the thick, top rung and drop the rest of his torso so he hangs upside down.

“There’s nothing to doooo,” his nephew whines pathetically.

“And we’re boooored,” his niece adds, equally as dramatic, as she lists sideways into Veronica’s lap, who simply rolls her eyes before beginning to run her fingers through the young girl’s hair.

It’s Lance’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “So, what? It’s my job to entertain you two?”

Sylvio meets his gaze straight on. “I mean, yeah?” Lance can’t help the laugh that slips past his lips. God, when did his sweet little nephew get so sassy?

“Well, I’ve got to finish this today,” he says, jutting his chin towards the waiting tractor. “So, it looks like you guys are out of luck.”

Another pair of groans.

Rolling his eyes, Lance drops the water bottle back onto the ground to dig through his pockets for the keys, only for Veronica to grab his hand and place them in his palm. With a small smile as thanks, he begins to climb onto the machine, swinging his leg over the side before addressing the kids once more. “If you’re so bored, why don’t you do the homework you brought with you?”

“It’s Saturday, Uncle Lance! I don’t want to do _that_.”

“Doesn’t sound like there’s really nothing to do then, does it? Just things you don’t _want_ to do. So, you can’t really be all that bored.” The children make ugly faces at his response, so Lance sighs and tries again. “Maybe, if you help me out, I can finish faster and then we can go do something more fun.”

That catches Nadia’s attention, though Sylvio looks uncertain.

“What are you doing exactly?”

“Planting some seeds up and down the road.” He pulls out his phone and headphones, flicking idly through his playlist for something to listen to while he works. “Just from here to the entrance to the property.”

Sylvio’s nose scrunches up in distaste. “Why?”

“Huh,” Veronica shoots Lance a look that screams ‘ _I told you so_ ’. “That’s an excellent question, Sylvio. Why _are_ we planting bluebonnets up and down the road, Lance?”

Nadia perks up at that, sitting up straight and pulling Veronica’s leg out of the way to look at the bags herself. “’ _Bluebonnets_ ’?” she reads before turning to look up at Lance, excitement clear on her face. “Wait, aren’t those the pretty blue flowers Keith told us about?”

Lance’s neck suddenly felt like it was on fire again and it had nothing to do with the sun. He stubbornly keeps his head down, futzing with the controls, while the heat quickly creeps up to his face. He makes a vague noise of assent.

“Now things are coming together,” Veronica says, and Lance’s stomach churns uncomfortably at the tone of her voice. “Tell me, Nadia, what _exactly_ did Keith say about bluebonnets?”

“They’re his favorite!” Nadia promptly explains, ever helpful. “I looked them up and apparently there are entire _highways_ in Texas lined with them.” She rounds on Lance. “Is that why you’re planting them along the driveway? So Keith can see him next time he’s here?!”

“Well, I mean-. Not just because-. Uh, that’s-.” Lance stammers, trying not to shrink under the weight of his niece’s apparent enthusiasm towards the idea. Sylvio is giving him a weird look, so he must not be doing a good job. Meanwhile, Veronica looks like Christmas had just come early.

“Oh, is that how it is?” she taunts, shooting him a wicked smile. “We’re planting them for _Keith?_ ”

“They’re really pretty, Aunt Veronica,” Nadia insists before he could even _think_ of a response. He’s not sure yet whether he’s grateful for the interruption or not. “Like the juniberries.”

Veronica’s grin gets even bigger. 

_Nope, definitely not grateful._

“You know what, Nad,” his sister positively drawls, reaching out to push a few stray strands of hair out of the girl’s eyes gently, eyeing Lance triumphantly all the while. “I think you’re right; they’re _exactly_ like the juniberries.”

It sounds like she’s implying something. He’s pretty sure, since she’s always implying something when she uses that voice. He _hates_ that voice. And he was not about to stick around to hear any more of it, so he flicks the keys in the ignition, starting the tractor engine with a dull roar.

“What was that?” he shouts, sticking his ear buds in his ears. “I can’t hear you!” Nadia and Sylvio cover their ears with matching winces, which he feels a bit bad about, while Veronica rolls her eyes at the theatrics, so… forget her. He points to Nadia and Sylvio. “I’m going to work on this and you two are going to start on your homework. We’ll head into town this afternoon for a movie, okay? But _only_ if you get some of your homework done.” 

Nadia nods rapidly while Sylvio dismounts the fence and they both head off towards the house. Somehow, they’re already shouting at each other about something. But by now Lance is chugging along down the road, letting the noise of the tractor drown out his arguing niece and nephew, eyes trained ahead so he doesn’t have to see his sister’s smug face. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance lets loose a groan of exasperation, placing the first finished yellow cupcake with the rest. “Guys, can we _please_ stop talking about the damn flowers?”
> 
> They’re all anyone has been able to talk for months. _Months._ He swears, it’s been a near constant stream of stupid cowboy puns and Texas jokes from his siblings, of cooing from his Mama and knowing looks from Dad, of backstabbing twins ratting him out to his friends the first chance she got, of paladin text chains - _that Keith was also on_ \- filled with risky references to his ‘little side project’.
> 
> Needless to say, Lance is over it. At this point, he kinda just wants Keith to drive in, relive one of his fondest childhood memories and _move on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time is an illusion. 
> 
> 2020 can fuck right off though. 
> 
> Happy New Year!

“Will you get your hands out of here?” Lance snaps, swatting Pidge’s wandering hand away from his work for the millionth time. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Pidge rolls her eyes but retreats anyway. “I am an entity of chaos,” she declares grandly before sticking a finger in her mouth to lick off the bit of blue icing she managed to snag. “I was not raised,” she continues, her words garbled slightly around the digit. “I have always _been._ I will always _be._ ”

Somewhere behind Lance, Hunk snorts. “Cool it there, Socrates.”

Pidge pulls her finger out of her mouth with a disgusting _pop._ Lance makes a face. “Not Socrates.”

“Whatever.” He could practically hear the eye roll in Hunk’s voice. “You know what I meant.” The oven closes with a dull thud, followed shortly thereafter by the clattering of a fork against the countertop. “We still have a couple more minutes before those are ready to come out.”

Lance hums, pulling back his piping bag with a flourish. “Perfect timing, ‘cause I’m about done with these.”

“Awesome. At this rate, they’ll all be done by the time the others get here.”

“Remind me why we need to make so many cupcakes,” Pidge requests as Lance gently slides his latest masterpiece across the island to sit with the other dozen and a half. “I know I was on board when we started but this is getting ridiculous.”

“Funny,” Hunk retorts, squeezing past Lance to get to the mess of batter covered bowls and utensils on his other side. Lance playfully sticks out his butt a bit, just enough to trap his best friend between him and the counter behind them, but not enough to where his next cupcake’s decorations suffered. When Hunk pinches his side in retaliation, he relents; but kicks back at him as he passes for good measure. “I don’t remember _you_ helping make anything.”

“I made the frosting!”

“Correction: _I_ made the frosting. _You_ dropped in a bit of food coloring and stirred.”

“I was delegating before that,” Pidge sniffs.

“You’re so full of it.”

“Why did I miss you two again?” Lance asks blandly, adding another finished confection to the growing pile. That was the sixth blue one; the last of the set _._ Purple, green and pink were done too, so it’s time to move onto yellow. He deposits the mostly empty piping bag in the small space between him and Pidge, biting back a smirk when the tip – _totally and completely by accident_ – drags across the exposed skin just below the hem of her shorts, leaving a bright blue streak in its wake. ‘ _Serves her right for sitting on the counter during meal prep_ like a heathen,’ he muses as he busies himself prepping the next icing bag.

“Beats me,” Pidge says, swiping the stray icing off her leg and sticking that in her mouth as well, apparently not noticing the stain it left on her skin. (‘ _Ha!’)_ “But seriously, cupcakes?”

“It’s a special occasion,” Hunk defends, dumping his collection of dirty dishes into the sink on the far side of the kitchen. “And cupcakes are for special occasions.”

“ _How_ though?” Pidge presses. “ _How_ is this a special occasion? We’ve been meeting up here before heading out to Altea for _years_ and you’ve never made them before. So what makes this-.” She stops short, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses to glare at the back of Hunk’s head accusingly as he starts to wash the dishes. Meanwhile, Lance secures the nozzle to the new bag and grabs another cake, dutifully ignoring his squirming insides and the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He has a pretty good idea where this is going. He hopes he’s wrong. “This is about the flowers, isn’t it?” Pidge continues, oblivious to his distress. “You’re making us make cupcakes because you’re excited about the flowers!”

Yep, there it is.

Lance takes a slow, deep breath. It takes quite a bit of self-control to stop it from becoming a tired sigh.

“Of course, I’m excited about the flowers!” Hunk gushes, dropping a clean bowl into the drying rack. “Who _isn’t_ excited about the flowers?”

Okay, it’s been about thirty seconds and it was already getting to be too much.

Lance lets loose a groan of exasperation, placing the first finished yellow cupcake with the rest. “Guys, can we _please_ stop talking about the damn flowers?”

They’re all anyone has been able to talk for months. _Months._ He swears, it’s been a near constant stream of stupid cowboy puns and Texas jokes from his siblings, of cooing from his Mama and knowing looks from Dad, of backstabbing twins ratting him out to his friends the first chance she got, of paladin text chains - _that Keith was also on -_ filled with risky references to his ‘little side project’.

Needless to say, Lance is over it. At this point, he kinda just wants Keith to drive in, relive one of his fondest childhood memories and _move on._

And look, he gets it – it’s not like he’s ever been exactly subtle about his feelings for anyone, let alone _Keith_. He was mature enough to recognize that about himself. A little teasing from his loved ones was warranted and it’s not like they’d ever held back before. Hell, if Lance were on the other side of things, he probably would have joined in on the fun.

What he _doesn’t_ get though, was everyone’s fixation on the bluebonnets in particular. There were so many other stupid Keith-related things he’s done that they could just as easily draw teasing fodder from. So, what makes the bluebonnets so special? They were just flowers.

Hunk looks back at him from his spot at the sink. “I know we’ve given you a hard time about them recently,” he says, sounding rightfully apologetic. “But in all seriousness, they look great, Lance. He’s going to love them.”

Lance pauses mid-swirl, glancing up at him from the corner of his eye. “You think so?” He hates how soft and unsure his voice has suddenly become.

…Okay, so maybe they weren’t _just_ flowers.

“Dude, of course!” Hunk enthuses, jutting his chin towards the window facing the front yard. “Just look at them!”

Even though Lance has seen the blossoms upwards of a bazillion times since they bloomed a couple weeks ago, he finds his eyes are still drawn back to them.

They really had come in beautifully. A sea of vibrant blue lining the fence heading out to the road, stretching off into the distance, swaying gently in the breeze. Lance’s found that he’s actually become rather fond of them; so much so that he was thinking about adding more next year. Maybe throw some other wildflowers into the mix, for variety. He’d seen some Indian Paintbrushes pictured with wild bluebonnets when he was conducting his research on the plant. Maybe those? The red flowers would really pop against the blue.

“They _are_ pretty cool,” Pidge agrees easily, pulling Lance out of his musings. She’s on her phone when he looks back at her, tapping away at whatever. Probably some tech project now that the baking was nearly done. “Which reminds me, Mom wants to know if she can have a few for her garden.”

Lance hums, turning back to the half-finished cupcake in front of him. “Sure, I owe her anyway. She was a huge help getting them going in the first place.” He mimes circling it with the icing bag once or twice before pressing the nozzle back to the top. Just to get the feel for it again. “We’ll grab some before we leave Saturday.”

“Okay, cool.”

Hunk laughs quietly, turning back to the dishes in the sink. “Man, this is so great! I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

Lance shoots him a curious look as he grabs the next desert to be frosted. _What_?

Pidge grunts in agreement, eyes still glued to her phone. “’Bout time, right?”

He looks at her surprised. _What what?_

“ _Well_ past it,” Hunk says with a put-upon sigh. “But I get it. When I decided to confess to Shay, I could hardly get the nerve to string a full sentence together. I can only imagine what it must take to gear up for a big romantic gesture like this.” He peeks back over his shoulder with a mischievous grin. “Then again, you’ve always been the brave one between the two of us, huh, Lance?”

The words register in Lance’s brain then shoot down his spine like a bolt of lightning, fraying each and every nerve it met along the way. 

“What?!”

Frosting explodes from the end of the piping back with a sickening _squelch,_ completely covering the innocent cupcake beneath it. Some of it splatters across the counter. A few flecks even shoot across the island, almost hitting the backs of the bar stools on the other side.

Lance stares at the mess blankly, hands still clenched tightly around the popped bag.

His mind’s gone blank. He’s waiting for his heart to restart. Or at least come back to his chest after dropping to his _goddamn_ _knees._

“What the hell?!” Pidge shouts, glaring down at the yellow blobs of icing littering her leg and clothes.

“Oh, man. Okay, it’s fine,” Hunk hurriedly soothes, grabbing a wet wash rag and surveying the mess. “Pidge, don’t move or you’re gonna get it everywhere. Lance, are you-?”

At the sound of his name, the clouds begin to clear. Lance’s brain restarts, then kicks into high gear.

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah!” he shouts, startling Hunk as he approaches. Lance drops the now useless bag and whirls on his friend. His arms are flailing and he’s probably flicking bits for icing all over his mother’s nice, clean kitchen but right now _he doesn’t care._ “Pause, rewind and _stop._ Who the hell said _anything_ about romantic gestures or - ” he swallows heavily - “confessions?”

Hunk blinks at him, shocked, so Pidge picks up the slack.

“I mean, no one _technically,_ ” she supplies blandly, closing her phone and dropping it on a clean section of the counter. “But it’s pretty obvious.”

Lance spins on his heel, already glowering. “No, it’s not!” he protests.

“You’re kidding me, right?” She’s inspecting a large dollop of icing that landed on her thigh with an arched eyebrow. “Like, please tell me you’re joking.” With a shrug, she runs her finger through it and brings the offending yellow mess to her lips, already eyeing her next target on the opposite leg. Lance stares at her for a long moment, baffled, as she sucks the icing of her finger again, at which point Pidge looks back up at him. Sharp eyes scan his face. Whatever she finds causes her to hang her head with a groan. “Oh my god.”

“What?” His voice was getting louder, higher. He sounds like he’s on the verge of hysterics. ( _That’s not too far off._ ) “It’s _not_ a confession. This is just… One friend doing a nice friend thing for another friend.”

(‘ _Try saying ‘friend’ a couple more times,’_ a little voice in his head snarks. ‘ _That’ll convince them.’_ He promptly tells that little voice to go shove it. _)_

“’A nice friend thing’?” Pidge sputters, indignant. “You wanna do ‘a nice friend thing’ for Keith, make him a cupcake!” She waves her hand vaguely at the mess sitting on the counter in front of Lance. “Or get him a cool looking knife. He loves knives!” She accepts a wet paper towel from Hunk with a noise of thanks ( _when did he get over there?)_ before continuing her tirade. “Instead, you planted a bunch of flowers for him; the same way you planted a bunch of flowers in honor of the last person you were in love with. This is _so far beyond_ just ‘a nice friend thing’, to compare the two is like -. It’s just-.”

“Stupid,” Hunk finishes sagely. He’s on the other side of the island now, wiping up the yellow flecks of icing. Pidge points at him enthusiastically.

“Yes! Exactly! It’s _stupid_!” Her arm swings around so she’s pointing at Lance now, the tip of her green-stained finger just inches from his nose. “And you,” she says firmly. “Are not stupid, Lance.”

Hunk huffs out a laugh somewhere behind him ( _Seriously, how is he moving around so fast?)._ “At least not _that_ stupid,” he teases, tossing the destroyed pipping bag into the trash.

Lance shoots him a glare, but his heart’s just not in it.

“It’s not a confession though,” Lance insists. “It really isn’t.”

Pidge makes a disgusted noise, her shoulders drooping dramatically as she balls up her dirty paper towel and chucks it at his head. Lance swats it away easily. “I give up,” she grumbles, picking up her discarded phone. “Hunk?”

“Okay,” Hunk sighs, dropping his dirty rag back into the sink. “Okay,” he repeats as he approaches Lance carefully, like he would a cornered animal. “So, maybe you _didn’t_ mean it as a confession, Lance, but -” he quickly raises a hand when Lance opens his mouth to protest again – “ _but_ , think of how this is going to look to Keith.” The hand drops heavily onto Lance’s shoulder. Its presence is reassuring yet confining. “You dug up three miles worth of potentially viable farmland to plant his favorite flower and then spent the better part of the past month making sure they flourished so he could relive one of his favorite childhood memories. You don’t do something like that for just _anyone_.” Hunk squeezes his shoulder, as though to impress his point into Lance’s skin. “And, to Pidge’s point, the fact that you’ve already done this for Allura doesn’t help things. I mean, what do you think Keith is going to think when he sees it?”

Lance considers for a moment. And then another. And then...

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “This is a confession.” 

Hunk shoots a triumphant smile at Pidge. “There we go.”

Lance shrugs the hand off his shoulder - the weight was suddenly too much - and stumbles back several paces. His stomach rolls unpleasantly. “No, no, no,” he moans, gripping the edge of the island counter to steady himself. He thinks he might be sick. “Nope. Not happening. Definitely not happening. This is all a really, really messed up anxiety dream, isn’t it?”

“Woah hold on there, man. Calm down.” Hunk’s hands are back on his shoulders, this time leading him over to a barstool across the counter. Lance sinks into the seat obediently and once settled, drops his head into his hands. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he groans. “It was _never_ supposed to be like this.”

“I mean, as far as confessions go, this definitely isn’t the worst way to do it,” Pidge says gently after an awkward beat of silence. “We all just agreed it was pretty cool, remember?” 

Lance drags his hands down his face. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what _is_?” Hunk presses. 

Lance hesitates at that. Not because he didn’t know the answer to that question, but because he knew there would be a series of follow-up questions prompted by said answer and _those_ were the inquiries he was worried about. But with every passing moment, the weight of his friends’ gazes gets heavier and heavier and the thin line he had pressed his lips into gets weaker and the urge to fill the overbearing silence gets stronger. They had already opened this door, so they might as well go through.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before confessing, “I wasn’t planning on confessing to Keith _ever._ ” 

Hunk balks. “ _Ever?_ ”

“Ever.”

Pidge shakes her head, disbelievingly. “So let me get this straight: literally everyone _except_ Keith knows you’re so far gone for him you're basically in another _universe_ and you were just planning on keeping that a secret until you died?”

“Or got over him,” Hunk amends, shooting her an annoyed look. “Because that’s an option too.”

She brushes off the glare with a shrug. “Sure,” she agrees easily. “Whichever comes first.”

“It’ll probably be the first one,” Lance says with a hollow laugh, leaning back in his seat and giving the others a weak grin. “But a guy can dream, right?” 

Hunk’s hand is on his back again, this time rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. 

“Is there a reason you weren’t going to tell him?” Hunk asks kindly. 

Lance purses his lips together once more as his insides squirm uncomfortably at the prospect of responding. Maybe he wasn’t as ready to walk through the door as he thought.

Luckily, Pidge comes to the rescue once more. 

“It’s probably the same bullshit as last time with Allura,” she ventures, shifting a bit on the counter to face them more comfortably now that this can of worms was open. “You have this stupid, unsubstantiated notion that you’re not good enough for him, don’t you?”

Lance winces. You can always count on Pidge to be blunt. He admires that about her. “Basically.”

Hunk makes a noise, not unlike a wounded animal. “Buddy, we’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance grumbles, shrinking in on himself. He’s regretting opening this door now. His insides have tied themselves into a knot. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? The damn flowers are apparently broadcasting my feelings to everyone so -.” He stops when a thought occurs to him. “Wait - is that why everyone’s been giving me so much shit about the bluebonnets? Everyone just _assumed_ I was confessing to Keith?”

It’s Hunk’s turn to fling his hands into the air. “Duh!” 

“I take back what I said about you not being _that_ stupid,” Pidge says in disgust. “Oh my god, Lance!”

“There’s a lot going on right now! Give me a break!” 

Hunk’s face twists in frustration and he opens his mouth to give what Lance expects to be a talking to of a lifetime - probably about self-worth and believing in yourself and in love or something like that - when Pidge cuts him off. 

“Speaking of a lot going on right now,” she pauses, sniffing the air before wrinkling her nose. “Do you guys smell that?”

Hunk and Lance pause for a moment as well, sniffing the air. Something’s burning. 

“The cupcakes!” Hunk yelps. He scrambles to the other side of the kitchen and wrenches the oven open (“Easy, dude!”). Thick wisps of smoke come pouring out of the appliance the same way a choice selection of curses comes pouring out of Hunk’s lips. He wrenches the pan out of the oven before dumping it gracelessly on the stove-top. 

“Quiznack!” He huffs, throwing his oven mitt down on the counter. “Whelp, this batch is no good.”

Lance makes a sympathetic noise. It’s not often Hunk burns something, but when he does, he gets pretty bent out of shape about it.

“Which ones were those again?” he asks. 

“Ummm,” Pidge hums, looking over at the untouched bowls of icing besides her. “The red ones, I think.”

…Yeah, that seems about right. 

“The entire top is scorched. Dang it,” Hunk grumbles again, prodding at the blackened pastry top with a fork. It made a faint tapping noise, which in Lance’s experience, is never a good sign. “Now the set won’t be complete.”

“I think we can get by with what we have,” Pidge reassures, picking up her phone and swiping it open again. “Not like anyone’s gonna be focusing on them anyway.” Lance drops his head onto the counter with a groan at the reminder. “Sorry, Lance.”

“I’m not ready for this.” he moans.

There’s a beat of silence. 

“I mean, you’re gonna have to be.” Pidge says. He tilts his head so his chin props his face up on the counter, just enough to glare at her. She rolls her eyes as she turns a bit to flash her phone screen at him. The friend tracking app is open, and Shiro’s name is highlighted. “‘Cause they’re exiting the highway now.” 

/////

Never before has a silver pick-up truck looked so damn intimidating. 

Lance hovers on the front edge of the porch, flanked by Hunk and Pidge, wringing the twisted paper handles of the shopping bag he was holding nervously. The stiff sides of the bag crackle unbearably loud each time it’s jostled, but Lance can’t bring himself to stop. He _needs_ to do something with his hands right now or else he’s going to start pulling his hair out. 

Hunk, on the other hand, has apparently had enough and gently tugs the offending item out of Lance’s hands. He glances at the contents before setting it down on his far side with a small hum. 

“The hats are a nice touch,” he comments, clearly trying to draw Lance into conversation. It’s not working though. Lance’s eyes are glued to the flash of silver in the distance traveling the length of the property. It’s slowing down now to turn onto the driveway. He’s wringing his hands together now that the bag’s gone. His fingers tangle easily; just as easily as his stomach and heart had when he first spotted the car. 

The bluebonnets dance in the light spring breeze, mocking him.

He feels the weight of his parents’ gaze boring into his back. They’re peeking through the front window, even though they had promised to finish cleaning up the mess in the kitchen so Hunk, Lance, and Pidge could properly greet their guests. Lance’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he thanks every cosmic being he can think of - smarmy game show hosts or otherwise - that the rest of his family is tied up with school or work today. There’s only so much he can handle right now, and their overbearing presence would have definitely sent him over the edge. 

He opens his eyes just in time to see the truck turn onto the property. 

_Whelp, looks like it’s show time._

A hand - cold, clammy, _Pidge_ \- slips between his, tugging them apart, and pulling one back down to his side. 

A second hand - large and warm - grabs the other and pulls it in the opposite direction with a reassuring squeeze.

Right. _Right_. 

He can do this. 

Shiro and Keith are going to pull up, smiling and laughing at Lance’s antics and before they could get a word in edgewise, Lance’s going to whip out the hats, which will start another round of laughter plus some lighthearted grumbling from Keith. They’ll take pictures and eat the mostly-Voltron-inspired cupcakes sitting inside and reminisce. Then, Keith will pull him to the side and -. 

Lance almost chokes on his own spit. _Oh god._

“Holy shit,” he croaks. “I’m confessing to Keith.” 

“I know, buddy,” Hunk says, giving his hand another squeeze. Lance’s head snaps up to look at him so quickly he could practically _hear_ his neck bones protesting. 

“No, you don’t get it. I’m _confessing to Keith.”_

Hunk blinks down at him, confused. “...Yes?”

Why wasn’t he getting it? 

“And he has to _respond to said confession._ ” Lance shakes his hands free of his friends’ grip to tangle his fingers in his hair. Hunk really should have let him keep the bag. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?!”

Lance’s been so focused on what he was unwittingly saying to Keith that he completely forgot to even _consider_ what the response might be. Granted, he’s only known he was confessing for about ten minutes, but _still._

_Jeez, it’s one heart attack after another today!_

“We _just_ talked about this!” Hunk snaps, throwing his hands in the air again.

“That’s it,” Pidge groans, turning on her heel and crossing the porch to throw herself into the old wicker chair pressed into the corner. “I’ve reached the limit on my bullshit meter for the day.”

Hunk cranes his head to catch her eye. “Didn’t we _just_ talk about this?” he demands again.

Pidge shrugs, her lips twisted into a disapproving frown as she settles. “Not outright, but I thought it was heavily implied.” 

Lance has had it up to _here_ with the implications and assumptions. 

“Thought _what_ was heavily implied?” His voice is starting to sound hysterical again. 

“That Keith totally feels the same way?!” Hunk retorts, his voice taking on a hysterical edge now too.

“Did he _tell_ you that?”

“Not exactly; but we have eyes, Lance!" Hunk drags his hands down his face with a groan. "We made _cupcakes,_ dude. Cupcakes are for happy occasions!”

“You said they were for special occasions.” Pidge points out, pulling her legs up to casually drape over the arm of the chair. 

“Yes!” Hunk eagerly agrees, as though that solved everything. “Happy, _special_ occasions!”

“So, you don’t actually know,” Lance surmises, hand falling to plant themselves firmly on his hips.

“Let’s call it a pretty good feeling.”

“A cupcake feeling,” Pidge interjects. 

Hunk looks at her firmly. “Stop.” 

“Nope.” She pops her ‘p’ in a way she knows they hate. “Bullshit meter has overloaded. I’m having fun now.”

“Your cupcake feeling isn’t really helping me here, Hunk!” Lance argues, trying to pull them back on topic. He was having a crisis here, remember? 

“It’s not a -!” Hunk stops and takes a deep breath. He holds it for a moment before exhaling again, nice and slow. When he speaks again, his voice is carefully controlled. “Just trust us on this,” he implores. 

“Believe in the cupcakes.”

“I swear to God, Pidge -.”

“We _burnt_ the last batch! The red ones!”

“That _is_ a bad omen,” Pidge agrees sagely from her corner.

Hunk slaps a palm to his forehead. “I hate you both.” 

Lance opens his mouth to argue more, but the words die in his throat when he hears music. 

Fairly loud, close-in-proximity music.

His head snaps back to the driveway just as the silver truck pulls to a stop a dozen or so yards from where he stood. 

He hears Pidge whistle appreciatively behind him. “Wow. Shiro _really_ went all in on the Texas thing, huh?” 

Lance makes an agreeing noise, but it gets caught on the lump in his throat and comes out sounding more like a noise a dying cat would make. Which is just… great. 

The windshield is tinted, obscuring his view of the passengers and any possible previews to what they thought of the drive in. _‘Of course,’_ Lance laments as the engine turns off, abruptly cutting off the country song that had been blaring out the open windows. _‘There’s no breaks for me today, huh?’_

As soon as the engine settles, a blur of blue and purple comes bounding out from behind the truck, making a beeline towards Lance. He only has a second to brace himself before Kosmo collides with him. He stumbles, but by some miracle, remains standing. His fingers instinctively dig into the soft fur, scratching just behind the ears like he knows the wolf likes. 

“Hey, buddy,” Lance coos, his heart lifting a bit at the sight of his furry friend. “You have a good ride in the back?” Kosmo snorts in response, pressing his head further into his grasp. Lance huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Pidge makes a clicking noise and Kosmo is gone, excitedly pushing past him and scrambling across the wooden floor to greet her as well. 

Lance doesn’t have long to mourn the loss, as the driver’s side door opens and Shiro pops out, grinning broadly. 

“Hey, guys!”

Hunk and Pidge return the greeting. Lance waves weakly. His heart rate is starting to pick up again.

The second door on the driver’s side opens seconds later and out slides Curtis, his lips twisted into a mischievous grin. 

“I _love_ what you’ve done with the place, Lance!” he calls, dancing away from Shiro with a laugh when his fiancé makes a move to silence him. 

Lance ignores their antics, his eyes zeroing in on the passenger door. Process of elimination. He was practically choking on nervous anticipation. 

_‘Now or never.’_

It takes a moment or two - though it feels like infinities in Lance’s mind - for the last door to open and Keith to climb out. Lance’s eyes dance over him immediately, looking for any clues, any inkling, of how he might be taking all this. How he might be feeling. 

The first thing Lance notices is how his long, dark hair hangs loose around his shoulders in a tangled mess after being tossed by the wind. Next, comes the breathless, carefree smile gracing his lips, and hope begins to blossom in Lance’s chest. Finally, Lance’s roving gaze falls on Keith’s eyes, a thrill running through him at the way they danced, and the way they somehow brighten even further when their gazes lock.

All the anxieties and questions that had been plaguing him in the months since he planted the bluebonnets (and most notably, _today_ ) melt away in an instant. 

Because Lance knows his Keith-isms. 

And that look? That’s answer enough. 


	4. +1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halfway across the universe, Krolia gets a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something extra because I couldn't help myself

_Ding!_

_Ding!_

_Di-Din-Ding!_

Krolia turns over in her bed with a put-upon sigh, glaring at the communicator perched on her nightstand distastefully. The harsh red light of the clock behind it burns itself into her retinas as she takes note of the time. Only a few vargas into the next cycle. Far too early for messages. 

Regardless, she pushes herself up a bit to grab the offending device, not even glancing back when the mass behind her shifts as well. 

“Is something wrong?” Kolivan rumbles, already alert, and pushing himself up as well. 

“It’s just Keith. That’s his notification,” she reminds him gently, pushing on his shoulder until he lays back down. “He promised to send a message when he arrived at the McClain’s farm.” 

He stares up at her for a long moment, skeptical. She resists the urge to roll her eyes as he obviously struggles to keep his own open.

“Go back to sleep,” she instructs. Luckily, he does as he is told, and a few ticks later, his quiet snore fills their silent room once more. 

Krolia actually rolls her eyes this time, before turning back to her phone. She would just confirm he was at the farm and then go back to -.

She blinks owlishly down at the notifications. They are media messages, which is unusual.

Curious, Krolia clicks on the first one. She stares down at it for a long moment as her tired brain tries to process what she's looking at. When it finally clicks, the air is firmly pressed out of her lungs. 

It’s two humans; an adult and child. _Her_ humans. 

She recognizes her former mate immediately even though he had obviously aged since the last time she saw him. The lines around his eyes are new, though she is relieved to find that the eyes themselves still have the same fire in them, their heat and intensity scorching her even through the screen. His grin hadn’t changed either; it’s just as crooked in the picture as it had been the day they met. He was laying out in a patch of tall, blue wildflowers, his arm wrapped firmly around a young boy with the same crooked grin. They’re smiling up at the camera without a care in the world, two oddly shaped hats perched on their heads.

(Krolia had seen strange headgear briefly during her stay on Earth. They had a special name. Cow hats? Something stupid like that). 

A bittersweet smile pulls on the corner of her mouth as she flips to the next one. 

It’s just Keith this time, in the same patch of wildflowers. He seems to have switched hats with his father for this picture, because the edge of the large, red cow hat is falling into his eyes, though it seemingly does nothing to dampen the smile gracing her young son’s face. 

The next picture is far more recent. 

Her now-adult son is laying back on the ground in this one, in what appeared to be another patch of the same tall, blue wildflower. This time, however, he is surrounded by his friends. The other former paladins are also laid out amongst the flowers as well, carefully arranged so their heads formed a circle, each with their own color-coordinated cow hat, almost the exact same shades as their respective Lions. The stylized head gear were clearly being bent out of shape as they were pressed into the ground or bumped into other hats, but none of the paladins seemed to care, their laughter caught in real time, their joy immortalized. 

The last two pictures were more of the same. In one shot, the five heroes of the universe did their best to smile nicely for the camera, only for it to devolve into complete chaos in the next one as they all pulled ridiculous faces. 

In each one, she can’t help but zero in on her son’s visage. At the crooked grin that shone just as brightly now as it had in the pictures with his father, at the pleased flush that paints his cheeks, at the way one of his hands is intertwined with Lance’s, while the other swats at Pidge on his other side. His happiness is tangible. 

Krolia huffs out a quiet laugh, saving the files to her phone, thanking the universe that her son had found a family all of his own. 

She was getting ready to put her phone back down to finally go back to bed when a new notification appears on her phone with a happy _chirp!_ She arches an eyebrow when she sees Pidge has sent her yet another flurry of picture messages. 

It’s only Keith and Lance in these files. Candids. They’re still sitting in what Krolia now realizes are flowerbeds, heads bent together in a private conversation, the large rims of their cow hats pressing together awkwardly, though neither of them seem to mind. The flush that had decorated Keith’s cheeks in the previous set of photos was still there, albeit darker. Lance is equally as red, the tips of his ears rivaling the vibrancy of the Red Lion. 

The next photo in the set had clearly been taken mere seconds after the first, the only real difference being the matching sheepish grins the boys were shooting at each other. 

The last file though…

Keith’s hands are cupping Lance’s face, pulling him in for a kiss. In doing so, he’s dislodged the blue hat from his partner’s head. It’s descent into the sea of flowers beneath them was captured midway. But again, neither of them seemed to care; too caught up in one another to even notice.

Krolia huffs out another quiet laugh as she clicks her communicator off, ignoring the additional message Pidge sent about results of their betting pool. She and Kolivan will deal with that in the morning. 

She settles back into bed, with a crooked smile of her own. 

It was about time.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay strong y'all. Hopefully the cheeto will be gone soon.


End file.
